


spare me, if you can

by LaurytheLatrator



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Honesty, I don't ship Thorki but you can if you want, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, Implied/Referenced Torture, Post-Thor: Ragnarok (2017), References to Loki/Grandmaster
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-12 10:30:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12957318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaurytheLatrator/pseuds/LaurytheLatrator
Summary: These bros just need to talk.





	spare me, if you can

**Author's Note:**

> I've been reading a bunch of Gen Loki-centric fics and I have no idea why. It probably says something about me that I relate to someone struggling for control in their screwed up life... So I just spit this out last night because I like writing dialogue and the characters were talking to me. If you enjoy it, awesome, if you don't, that's cool.
> 
> Anyway here's wonderwall.

 

It could never be a secret, not with so many from Sakaar onboard.

Although Thor’s perception had greatly increased (counter to his _depth_ -perception), he remained blind to life’s uglier realities, pampered Prince that he was. It did not surprise him that, upon finding Loki ensconced in the Grandmaster’s good graces, Thor did not come to wonder how he achieved it. He did not spare a hope that Thor would remain ignorant; ignorance was the general state of affairs for his once-brother.

And _yet_ , when Loki returns to his quarters, seiðr frayed after weaving transmutation upon their meager food stocks, to find Thor slumped upon his bed with an agonized and guilty expression, it does not take long to presume why.

“Valkyrie finally let it slip,” Loki says, carefully shutting the door behind himself.

Thor drops his head into his palms, revealing the shorn tufts on the back of his neck. The sight, as always, sends a pang through Loki that he will not identify.

“Korg,” He corrects, voice quiet and rough. Loki nods; it’s unsurprising from the tactless lout, to state a plain fact without understanding its repercussions.

It betrays weakness, to his advantage, so Loki lets the strain of the day show as he runs a hand over his face. “If you are here to moralize at me, I ask to be spared, if not indefinitely than for the night.”

“You think…” Thor starts and stops, mind working like an overburdened ox. “…I don’t… _blame_ you…”

“Ah,” Loki leans upon the wall, allows the false gravity of the ship to pull him into a sitting position. If they are going to _talk_ he’d rather be comfortable. “You seek not to condemn my actions, then, but pity the circumstances that created them. I do not require either from you, Thor, so you may as well put it from your thoughts.”

A jump of anger, characteristic and expected, sets Thor’s fist thumping against the yielding bedding. “You can’t expect me to forget it, Loki! What he did to you—“

“Is no worse than what I did to him,” Loki gently reminds him. “We used each other for our own purposes, fully aware of what the other gained in return. I will not lie to you, it was no great love affair, nor was it the torture you seem to believe.”

Thor is predictable as ever, moods mercurial as wind. His rage mellows into sorrow, shining as it used to from his water-blue eyes. How many times did Loki relent in some mischief when faced with that hangdog look? Though he’d imagined it’s effect would be halved… he remains as pliable, dropping his gaze and simmering with unease. “Do you value yourself so little, brother, that you would accept such treatment and call it useful?”

“I was raised from the dirty hold to opulence and comfort, what does that say of my value?”

"To have no choice but to _lie_ with such a—"

"I've chosen stranger bedmates—"

“The toll it must take—“

“Often an illusionary form was all he required—“

“Why must you resort to truth only when it will wound me?”

“Wound you?” Loki repeats, his own ire piqued for the first time that conversation. He spits his rebuke at the space between Thor’s boots. “You are the one who barges into my quarters and dregs up old hardships. The first is your right as _King_ , I suppose,” the word tastes not as bitter as it once did, “But the second I will protest. The Grandmaster is behind us, and his trespass was no more than a fraction of what I can endure.”

For a moment, Thor assumes he refers to Asgard, and their tumultuous youth, and he inflates with fury once more. The small room crackles with the energy Thor has yet to master. Curiously, it seeps out of him rather than explodes. When he speaks, it is with calm detachment more suited to Banner than himself. Two syllables, and they strike fear into Loki’s heart: “Thanos.”

His head whips back. “How do you know that name?”

The Titan, the Eternal, Master… these were what Loki had been permitted to address him by.

“Then it is true?”

He knows not what he asks.

Thor can have no conception of the interminable expanse of _falling, endless blackness pressing in, no air to whisper by his ears. For the descent to end in his feet gently brushing ground without recognizing it, his body crumpling onto solid mass, and bewildered by the sensation. A voice in the shadows, bringing pain and healing, speaking words of sympathy and command. They tried many avenues with him, back when he still burned with defiance. Sexual subjugation was discarded early; he had long ago developed the skill to turn submission to control. Dismemberment was good fun for the Chitauri, as all would inevitably grow back, though still the physical could be retreated from. Forced under the hot springs, writhing as his Jötunn blood boiled, listening to warped voices plucked from his memories, or nightmares, or the spaces in-between… His Master had welcomed his allegiance, as benevolent as he could be cruel._

_“Yours is a glorious purpose, pet… Do not fail me…”_

The present returns sharply. His hand is scrabbling at the wrist that holds him aloft by his collar. The rap-tap of his name is repeated, and this time he hears it in his brother’s voice. “Loki!” Thor’s voice trembles with worry, at odds with his firm grip. Understanding floods back, and Loki drops his resistance, allowing Thor to rest him upon his feet. His hand comes loose from Loki’s clothes reluctantly. “You were lost, brother,” He explains.

“Yes,” Loki agrees, “And I owe Valkyrie an apology, atop all the others.”

Thor’s stare is uncomprehending, but he does not ask. “Had we known of Thanos’ involvement before, we might have—“

Loki raises his brows, “What? What would it have changed? My actions were my own on Midgard, not that you can ever accept that. And I was long free of the Titan’s influence when I overpowered Fa—Allfather and left him among Midgard’s refuse.” That’s a twist on his intentions: truly, he had believed to place Odin where the Elders were exalted and cared for, it’s not his fault humanity chose to value them so little.

“And when you sat upon Asgard’s throne,” Thor speaks deliberately, “You did not march unto Jötunheimr or Midgard or any of the other Realms. You occupied your warriors with menial quests and your artists with self-indulgent rot.” Loki feels a twinge of indignation there. “Asgard was stagnant, yes, but stable. I saw no sign of the power-mad creature who once ran loose on Earth. It is proof, to me, that Thanos—“

“Stop—“ Loki grits out in spite of himself, “…saying his name.”

A warm, calloused palm cups his cheek, fingertips brushing back his long, thick locks. “His influence was more insidious than we knew. I am sorry.”

Apologies have been a nebulous cloud hovering around Loki for some time. To give voice to one would mean a deluge he could not stop. He’s acknowledged his debt without using the words Thor gives up so easily.

This time, he does it by returning Thor’s gesture. His hand, colder than the Æsir’s, slides around Thor’s neck to the fine hairs that remain. Looking into Thor’s single eye, Loki speaks, with the sincerity he once had saying _Never doubt that I love you_. “I would have spared you this, if I could.”

A shiver of shame, or recalled fear, passes over the King’s visage before he can hide it. “I know.” It’s a kindness from Thor, because Loki probably remains undeserving of blind trust. He closes his eyes before Thor can see the memory take hold of him.

_“I like this,” The Grandmaster had remarked, twisting the dark hair in his fist. “Are all—uh—Asgardians…like this? With the, you know, pretty hair?”_

_Loki paused in his ministrations to look up, smiling with half his mouth. “Do you refer to the color or length?”_

_“Hmm… Both?”_

_He hummed, creating reverberations against the other’s hipbone. Easier, with himself occupied, to approach the question academically, rather than thinking of… “Most Æsir are blonde, and many will change their hair thus if it is not naturally so.” Why hadn’t Odin… This coarse Jötnar hair was held fast by a new master, it didn't do to dwell on the old... Odin was dead, Frigga was dead, and Thor could not have survived… Loki watched his methodically stroking fingers and said, “Hair is commonly shoulder length or longer. Useful, isn’t it?” He bent his head, enough that his scalp cried out, though his mouth was occupied._

_“Oh-ho-ho, yeah, I’d say so, Silvertongue.”_

He hadn’t needed to explain how warriors captured in battle suffered the dishonor of being held down and shaved. It seemed the Grandmaster had worked that out for himself.

“We are here, we're together,” Thor was saying softly, “What’s lost can be remade.”

Loki feels his lips twist, unsure if this smile is mocking or amused. “The hair, perhaps,” He releases Thor to gesture at the eye-patch, “But not everything.” It breaks the embrace, and Loki finds himself eager for more distance. And rest, his depleted seiðr chose to prod him. “I, at least, can benefit from sleep, if our,” He borrows the phrase, “ _Tête-à-tête_ is concluded?” As he presumed, there’s a flash of irritation over Thor’s worn face at his obfuscation. However, he mellows quicker than Loki thought.

“As you say, brother,” Thor declares with a nod. The reflexive urge to correct him _(not brothers, we were never truly brothers)_ passes, and he ascribes it to weariness, rather than the ridiculous notion of ‘going soft’. “I will,” Thor stumbles over his words, “I will take my leave, if that is— I mean…”

“If you’re angling for an invitation,” Loki begins as a jest only to falter at the unmistakeable hope on Thor’s face. “Oh come now Thor, we’re far too old, and you’re not exactly slender—”

“We don’t have to share the bed,” Thor eagerly cuts in, “I could take the floor.”

Loki snorts. “The King of Asgard lying prone on the hard floor, while I, disgraced Prince of neither Asgard nor Jötunheimr, sleep upon the bed?” Chagrined, Thor looks about to object, to which part Loki cares not. He finishes the thought too swiftly. “How can I refuse?”

It is the matter of minutes to prepare for sleep, but Loki feels Thor’s presence in every one. He cannot help his stature, nor could he fully control the prickling of energy that lingers within him; different that Loki's own seiðr, yes, but not so different his spirit can ignore it. Even as he stares up at the wrought metal ceiling he can feel Thor several feet away, resting his head on his balled-up tunic, blissfully content.

Millenia ago, when they were youths untouched by resentment or bravado, it was common for one or the other to crawl into the other's bed. Thor would leap upon his soft springy bed, eager to whisper tales of glory into his brother's ear, boundless energy and easy camaraderie. It was nightmares, imaginative horrors of darkness and solitude, that would send Loki whimpering to Thor's side, mewling as Thor sweetly pet his head through to the dawn. How telling their differences were, even then.

“We are _sleeping_ ,” Loki says aloud to them both, “Nothing more.”

“Yes, yes, alright.” There’s a moment’s peace that obviously can’t last. “Darcy told me Midgard custom restricts this sort of thing to their females. Something called a ‘slumber party’. I’m told it involves feasting and discussion of romantic conquests.”

“I’ve done my part, so unless you wish to unburden yourself of this matter with Jane…” Loki relishes in the petulant silence. “Goodnight, Thor.”

“Pleasant dreams, Loki.”

It would be folly to forget how much has changed in those thousands of years. Although, there could be no harm in waking Thor as a scorpion, for old time's sake.

 


End file.
